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all her hard gardening work dismantled had the fear morphing right into anger, helping her shake off the dark memories she’d been plagued by a few minutes before.
    She set her mug down and went to her front door, unlatching the three deadbolts and deactivating the alarm before pulling it open. The sight was even worse outside. Her entire garden out front looked like a herd of elephants had trampled through it. “What the hell?”
    Colby turned at the sound of her voice, his jaw set. “Morning.”
    She wrapped her arms around herself, remembering she was only wearing a thin robe. “What’s going on?”
    He dropped the pile of soggy toilet paper to the ground and took a few steps toward her. He was dressed for his morning run—baseball cap, track pants, and a blue Nike shirt. The man was like clockwork with his routine. Not that she’d noticed or anything.
    “Apparently, some of the neighborhood kids decided to go on their own post-Halloween rampage and went a little overboard last night. My house got hit, too. When I came out, I figured it was probably a group from the school I work at targeting the staff. But then I saw your yard. My kids would know better than to tear up someone’s garden. At least they better or I’d have their butts out here fixing all this.”
    She glanced over at his house and saw that it had gotten the same treatment. The white streamers of toilet paper billowed in the breeze. “Why are you over here, though? Looks like you have your own mess to handle.”
    He shrugged. “You work hard on your yard, and it’d be tough for you to reach this stuff in the tree. I figured I’d help.”
    “Thank you. That’s really nice of you.” She fought past her tendency to evaluate the kindness. She’d learned that a favor could be an aggressive move, a way to make someone feel indebted without permission. But every instinct told her Colby wasn’t a danger to her. The man was dominant and a sadist, but he lived by a code. She’d done her research on his lifestyle and had seen it in action through the window—structured, practiced, controlled. He only hurt with consent. “Do you want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”
    He wiped his hands on his pants and smiled. “Sure, that’d be great.”
    She stepped back inside and put her hand on the door, giving him the subtle signal that he wasn’t invited inside. No one was. “I’ll grab some and bring it out to you. Cream?”
    “No, black with a little sugar is fine.”
    She shut the door and locked it. With lightning-fast precision, she pulled on a pair of yoga pants, a bra, and a long-sleeved T-shirt, then made her way back toward the front of the house with two cups of coffee. Colby was sitting on her front steps when she walked out. He stood when he saw her and took the cup from her hand.
    “Thanks,” he said, leaning against one of the brick columns on her porch. “I usually don’t let myself have one of these until I get to school.”
    She wrapped both hands around her mug, the heat warming her cold fingers and soothing her nerves a bit. This was just coffee with the neighbor. “If I don’t have it within ten minutes of opening my eyes, I’m ruined for the morning.”
    He took a long sip and recoiled a bit. “Whoa.”
    She bit her lip, trying not to smile. “Sorry, I make the kind with chicory in it. My dad’s originally from New Orleans, and I picked up the habit. I could get you some cream if you want.”
    He coughed, but his eyes were smiling. “No, I’ll be fine. Just didn’t expect that kick. That’ll grow hair on your chest.”
    “I certainly hope not,” she said, taking another sip.
    He chuckled and his gaze drifted downward ever so briefly to the V-neck of her top, making her instantly aware. But as quickly as the glance was there, his attention was back on her face again. “So is that where you’re from? New Orleans?”
    The question was a simple one but held more drama than he could know. “No, my mom’s a